


Die Marionetten

by chamomilecanary



Category: Princess Tutu
Genre: Heavy Angst, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:59:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23772700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chamomilecanary/pseuds/chamomilecanary
Summary: Accepting one’s fate doesn’t always end in happiness, and defying one’s fate doesn’t always end in glory. Apart from the story, we are kept warm with the comforts of our morals and our own safety as we explore the themes found within suffering. We can find glory in futile stands against oppression. We can feel the bittersweet happiness that comes with the redeeming sacrifice of a previously evil character. But what is there for the characters?
Relationships: Ahiru | Duck & Fakir & Mytho & Rue (Princess Tutu), Ahiru | Duck/Fakir (Princess Tutu), Autor/Femio (Princess Tutu), Mytho/Rue (Princess Tutu)
Kudos: 3





	Die Marionetten

This tale doesn’t begin Once Upon a Time or On a Dark and Stormy Night, though it does take place at night. This night, however, was calm. The moon was full; the stars glittering in full view above the run-down library where our story begins once more.

“Once more,” I’m sure you’re asking yourself, “What do you mean, once more?” 

This will be understood with time, my dears. Spoilers would do no good, would they? The story begins, once more, in a run down old library, above which an entire ocean of stars glittered serenely, for stars don’t know the games and woes of men. Had the stars known what two men were discussing within the old run down library above which they glittered, I can assure you that they would have been significantly duller. 

Two men, on the top floor of a run down old library (above which stars glittered serenely), were discussing matters of particular importance to them on this beautiful cloudless night. In hushed voices, they whispered over three photographs, photographs which were illuminated by naught but a single candle. One of these men wore glasses- which is not surprising, considering his past time of whispering over photographs illuminated by naught but a single candle. 

The three photographs depicted four different people, all young and around the same age. One photograph was of the mayor’s lovely daughter, hailed as the most eligible bachelorette in town. Gifted with grace, beauty, intelligence, and a wealthy father, Rue Amsel had wanted for nothing in her life. She carried herself with the air of a Princess. In many ways, she was one. The town of Goldkrone was her kingdom, and her subjects adored her. 

The second photograph depicted the blacksmith’s handsome son, adored as the most eligible bachelor in town. Strong, stoic, tall, and in possession of a certain mysteriousness that intrigued the young ladies of Goldkrone Town to no end, Fakir Rossel had made an enemy of almost every boy in town without even taking the effort to lift his pinky. He cared very little for the attention of the town’s young ladies, preferring to spend most of his time in the smithy with his father, or with a couple of orphans- the only two people who did not either fawn over him or revile him. 

The third photograph depicted these two orphans, known to the world only as Mytho and Duck. Mytho possessed the beauty of a Greek God, and so the nuns of the orphanage named him Mytho- for a child as perfect as he could only exist in Myth. Duck possessed all the grace of, well, a duck- and was thusly named, for she was a child so awkward and clumsy that even the nuns did not think it an odd thing to name her after an awkward and clumsy creature. However, despite their differences- of which there were many- the boy and the girl loved each other dearly. In every way aside from their blood, the two were siblings.

The two men cared very little for such trifles concerning each of the people, however. They did not care why a girl was named after water fowl, or how popular a young blacksmith was with the town’s young women. They felt their purpose in that old run down library that serene, starry night was much holier. Or perhaps, more demonic. Who’s to say what they were thinking? Neither you nor I were in the room where it happened, so we can only guess.

The elder of the two men solemnly and painstakingly drew four symbols on the four faces depicted in the three photographs. A crown obscured Mytho’s perfect visage. A swan, graceful and gorgeous, replaced Duck’s freckled face. A raven marred Rue’s noble features; A knight’s helmet covered Fakir’s stern expression.Once this was done, he handed the photographs off to his bespectacled younger counterpart, who locked them away in a small wooden box. Their job, in their mind, was completed- for now. 

“Tomorrow, we’ll hand this off to  _ die puppenfrau _ for safekeeping. Tonight, it will stay with you, my son. Can I entrust you to keep it safe? As you’re well aware, this is the beginning of our holy rites. If anything were to happen to those pictures... “ The older man cast a meaningful glance towards the younger man, who stood up straight and nodded, holding the wooden box close to his chest. 

“Of course! I won’t let our people down, sir. But… sir, might I be permitted to ask a question?”

“Yes, young Autor, you may,” the older man permitted as he began to tidy up the small desk over which they had been huddled. Autor glanced to the side nervously, before steeling himself and divulging to his senior what had been troubling him so. 

“Sir, I understand the honor and responsibility that’s been bestowed upon me- upon us- is great. But is this… necessary? Rue Amsel and Fakir Rossel are beloved among the townspeople. Will their disappearance not bring our work to light?” Autor spoke of understanding his responsibility and of the importance of keeping secrets, but his facial expression spoke to a different sort of reluctance. It wasn’t his organization that young Autor was worried about- no. He was hesitant to carry out their rituals and rites. Although he’d grown into a young man, there were still glimpses of a child within. 

The older man sighed. This is what was wrong with bringing young people into the order too soon. They had little respect for tradition, even traditions that kept them safe. “You will understand in time, son,” he told Autor, “We cannot thrive without  _ die Nacherleben _ . If we are to continue to be blessed and protected by He on High, we must continue to act in his will. Without his guidance, we are nothing. This is his will. These tributes have been designated since their birth for this role. It is the greatest honor that can be bestowed upon someone from Goldkrone, whether or not they are aware of it. Rue’s disappearance will be explained away. They all will be.” 

Autor nodded, still looking a little bit hesitant, but seemed to be appeased enough for his mind to be put at ease. It’s easy to accept the ramblings of old men speaking of tradition and religion when it’s not your suffering that is imminent. Having been accepted into the ranks of his people’s elite, the young man knew his future to be secure and full of prosperity, should he continue to abide by their laws. However the ritual sat ill with his principles, Autor did not feel it worth sacrificing his station in life. We should not blame him- most people are the same. 

The two men continued to clean up the space in silence, ending with the elder blowing the single candle out, shrouding them in complete darkness as they shuffled out of the room and down the stairs. They walked down into the general library area in silence, only speaking once they’d exited the building and were basked in the starlight illuminating the streets. The older man clapped Autor on the back, looking up at the stars above. (All of which were sparkling as brightly as ever. After all, they were too far away to hear the vaguely ominous things being discussed.) 

“I wouldn’t worry too much, my boy. This is the only  _ Nacherleben  _ any of us will have to live through. Don’t let it chew at your conscience too much. Remember: Those who accept their fate will be granted happiness. Those who defy their fate will be given glory. I would accept your fate and theirs. It is the beginning.” 

Autor nodded, taking a deep breath and glancing upwards to the sky himself. His elder was right. It would be another sixty years until  _ die Nacherleben _ happens again. It was necessary to stay in the good Graces of their God. It is written, and so it shall be. 

My dears, I’d like to impart to you some wisdom before our tale begins again. Accepting one’s fate doesn’t always end in happiness, and defying one’s fate doesn’t always end in glory. Apart from the story, we are kept warm with the comforts of our morals and our own safety as we explore the themes found within suffering. We can find glory in futile stands against oppression. We can feel the bittersweet happiness that comes with the redeeming sacrifice of a previously evil character. But what is there for the characters? 

Is there happiness in death? Is there glory in suffering and trepidation? Do they really care either way? No, I would say not. For they, much like us, want only peace and the comforts of a quiet life. Heroes are not made, they are forced into the spotlight. Rue, Fakir, Mytho and Duck. How will their stories go? How will their stories end? 

That is for no one but you to decide. Will they be granted happiness? Or will they be granted false glory? 


End file.
